For Bunmi who loved Philip
And Philip who loved her back
For the times, he tried to bite her leg
And the times she teased him so
For the days she watched after him
And the nights he slept with the lights on
For the tears she cried when he died
And the days he could have enjoyed more of her care
For Philip who made us love birds
And for Bunmi who will never forget him.
Bunmi, - I hope you like the poem. You asked for a story, and I promise you a really beautiful Philip story another day.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Monday, July 26, 2010
Bumblebee Effect
 |
| Rusty Philip |
I have a Parrot named Rusty who is missing half a wing. The hunter that caught him in the wilds must have decided this was the only way to prevent his escape.
Rusty doesn’t know that he is incapacitated in any way. You should see him spread out what is left of his wings, the pride on his face, the majesty of it –even with its missing part- and the powerful whoosh of air as he beats the wings against his body.
Should I open the cage at one such moment, Rusty would probably take off into the air- believing in his heart that this is the natural thing to do. And who knows, he just might make it.
Bumblebees on the other hand have practised the act of making the impossible possible since the beginning of time. Aerodynamically speaking, Bumblebees cannot fly-should not be able to fly-are grounded totally. The ratio of their body weight to their wings is disproportionate. Science says Bumblebees can’t fly. But hey, nobody told the Bumblebee that. When God made him, he looked up into the sky, looked at the work he had to do to survive and took off from the ground to get it done. He didn’t ask anyone if they thought he should be able to fly. He knew in his heart that he could.
Permission seeking has killed far too many dreams and potentials around us. Nobody has all the answers, and I seriously doubt that anybody is created to do so (except Google : )). We are all a part of a big puzzle with our own unique ways and visions. We have a part to play, a duty to perform to this world in order to complete our part of the puzzle but we’ll never get it done unless we take a leaf from the Bumblebee.
Like Joseph Campbell says- The priviledge of a lifetime is being what you are
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Sometimes good guys deserve a break..... (Short Story)
There was a huge crowd on the street of Ponle that afternoon. I could see my house around the corner but I could not reach it. Its faded green walls and sagging roof had never looked so welcoming, yet every time I moved a few feet forward, the crowd seemed to move me back again.
“What is going on?” I asked, murmuring under my breath. I just wanted to get home and know that another horrible day was over. I didn’t really care about the crowd or the new sensation that brought them to Ponle. This was a dead end street where nothing of importance happens, but once in a while, some washed out musician would hold a road show and the crowd would gather.
“Ponle’s illustrious son has being brought home”
It took a second for me to realise that someone was actually responding to my rhetoric question.
I turned and saw an old man standing at the edge of the crowd just like I was. He smiled at me in a genial way but I didn’t respond. I was tired of being nice to strangers. Why couldn’t I just get away from everyone, sip from a cold bottle of water, put my feet up and pretend that the world made sense?
“Look over there” the old man pointed to a certain spot over the heads of the crowd “That’s his picture”
I am short sighted and can’t see very far. I pretended to look and nodded in a vague way. What did I care about some wannabe politician? I inched away from the old man.
“You know he wasn’t always this popular. He wasn’t always rich with properties all over the world” the old man said musingly “He grew up a pauper. There were the days he had nothing to eat and women did not want him”
I thought of my empty second-hand fridge with its cold water and no food, thought of the flat mattress whose springs would occasionally jut out and cause havoc to my body and I thought about my permanent single status.
“His life was miserable. No money, no family, and no friends” the old man shook his head “Life is so interesting” he said and kept quiet.
I looked at the old man. I wondered if he had known Ponle’s illustrious son when he was younger and if Ponle’s illustrious son would recognise or acknowledge the relationship now. The old man peered into a satchel he carried and brought out a half eaten kola. He smiled with pleasure as he bit into it.
I was tired of waiting for him to resume the story so I said “So what happened to change his life? How did he become rich?”
The old man looked at me and shook his head. “No no it’s not about the money” He said and continued chewing his kola. He swallowed audibly. I wondered if I had seen the old man in Ponle before. I would probably not have noticed him. He looked like the many other old men who live in Ponle. Only, there was something almost carefree about him. Like he didn’t have any worries. And Ponle has many worried people-both young and old.
“It’s the character that matters” the old man said
“Character” I said bitterly “There’s no gain in good character these days”
The old man gave me a knowing look. “Then why do you help that old woman down the road carry her goods to her shop every morning”
“How do you know that?” I asked shocked. It was a small thing I did under the cover of early morning darkness
“I know things and besides Ponle is a small place” he said, he turned back towards the crowd and pointed at the drummers. It was then that I observed that Ponle’s illustrious son was coming home in a coffin. The coffin bearers were dancing wildly and throwing their load in the air “but it is character that has made the man famous”
I was glad we had gone back to Ponle’s illustrious son and passed over my own activities. “In his poverty, he never stole, never cheated and he worked hard” he added impishly “He helped old women across the road”
I smiled with irony “a good man” I said
“You could say that” the old man said “It was who he was. Who he chose to be” He gave me another knowing look but I ignored him
“Then one day, he helped this old woman cross the road and she gave him a bag as a gift” he continued “It changed his fortunes”
I frowned at the old man “I was taking you seriously” I said annoyed “but your reference to old women is no longer amusing”
“The bag changed his fortunes” the old man continued as though I had not spoken, a very thoughtful look on his face “You see, sometimes good guys going nowhere deserve a break”
There was a sudden commotion. We both looked at the wild dancers and realised in horror that Ponle’s illustrious son’s coffin was soaring dangerously in the air. If it landed at the speed that had sent it up, there was likely to be a disaster
“Hold this!” the old man flung his satchel at me and darted with surprising agility into the crowd. I caught the satchel, but ran after him. What could this old man hope to achieve without getting hurt?
The crowd parted with surprising ease but I lost sight of the old man. A cry of excitement as I neared the dancers made me realise the coffin had landed safely. I breathed easily, foolish old man, now where was he?
He was nowhere near the dancers, coffin or drummers. I craned my neck in different directions but didn’t see him. I prepared to wait at the spot till all the crowd had dispersed because no doubt I would see the old man and return his satchel.
The processions continued with their antics but they held no interest to me. I thought of the old man – I had taken a liking to him- and I thought of his weird story. I looked with sudden curiosity at the portrait of Ponle’s illustrious son which was now a few feet from me, and suddenly the world slowed down.
Tremors began in my hands and my jaws hit the ground. Was this a joke? I moved closer to the portrait – it really couldn’t be.
But it was, because every other picture, calendar or obituary notice I have seen since then showed the picture of the old man. How could that old man be the same man who was in the coffin?
It was almost like a dream but for the satchel. I looked inside the satchel for some clue- and for the second time- my world slowed. Where I had expected to find more Kola nuts, I found tiny little gems, precious stones.
The old man’s words floated around me with sudden clarity
“The bag changed his fortunes”
‘Was it possible?’ I thought rooted to the spot ‘Was it possible?’
And then I understood why he had done it
At least I thought I understood, a man like him knew. He had to know.
“Sometimes good guys going nowhere deserve a break”
“What is going on?” I asked, murmuring under my breath. I just wanted to get home and know that another horrible day was over. I didn’t really care about the crowd or the new sensation that brought them to Ponle. This was a dead end street where nothing of importance happens, but once in a while, some washed out musician would hold a road show and the crowd would gather.
“Ponle’s illustrious son has being brought home”
It took a second for me to realise that someone was actually responding to my rhetoric question.
I turned and saw an old man standing at the edge of the crowd just like I was. He smiled at me in a genial way but I didn’t respond. I was tired of being nice to strangers. Why couldn’t I just get away from everyone, sip from a cold bottle of water, put my feet up and pretend that the world made sense?
“Look over there” the old man pointed to a certain spot over the heads of the crowd “That’s his picture”
I am short sighted and can’t see very far. I pretended to look and nodded in a vague way. What did I care about some wannabe politician? I inched away from the old man.
“You know he wasn’t always this popular. He wasn’t always rich with properties all over the world” the old man said musingly “He grew up a pauper. There were the days he had nothing to eat and women did not want him”
I thought of my empty second-hand fridge with its cold water and no food, thought of the flat mattress whose springs would occasionally jut out and cause havoc to my body and I thought about my permanent single status.
“His life was miserable. No money, no family, and no friends” the old man shook his head “Life is so interesting” he said and kept quiet.
I looked at the old man. I wondered if he had known Ponle’s illustrious son when he was younger and if Ponle’s illustrious son would recognise or acknowledge the relationship now. The old man peered into a satchel he carried and brought out a half eaten kola. He smiled with pleasure as he bit into it.
I was tired of waiting for him to resume the story so I said “So what happened to change his life? How did he become rich?”
The old man looked at me and shook his head. “No no it’s not about the money” He said and continued chewing his kola. He swallowed audibly. I wondered if I had seen the old man in Ponle before. I would probably not have noticed him. He looked like the many other old men who live in Ponle. Only, there was something almost carefree about him. Like he didn’t have any worries. And Ponle has many worried people-both young and old.
“It’s the character that matters” the old man said
“Character” I said bitterly “There’s no gain in good character these days”
The old man gave me a knowing look. “Then why do you help that old woman down the road carry her goods to her shop every morning”
“How do you know that?” I asked shocked. It was a small thing I did under the cover of early morning darkness
“I know things and besides Ponle is a small place” he said, he turned back towards the crowd and pointed at the drummers. It was then that I observed that Ponle’s illustrious son was coming home in a coffin. The coffin bearers were dancing wildly and throwing their load in the air “but it is character that has made the man famous”
I was glad we had gone back to Ponle’s illustrious son and passed over my own activities. “In his poverty, he never stole, never cheated and he worked hard” he added impishly “He helped old women across the road”
I smiled with irony “a good man” I said
“You could say that” the old man said “It was who he was. Who he chose to be” He gave me another knowing look but I ignored him
“Then one day, he helped this old woman cross the road and she gave him a bag as a gift” he continued “It changed his fortunes”
I frowned at the old man “I was taking you seriously” I said annoyed “but your reference to old women is no longer amusing”
“The bag changed his fortunes” the old man continued as though I had not spoken, a very thoughtful look on his face “You see, sometimes good guys going nowhere deserve a break”
There was a sudden commotion. We both looked at the wild dancers and realised in horror that Ponle’s illustrious son’s coffin was soaring dangerously in the air. If it landed at the speed that had sent it up, there was likely to be a disaster
“Hold this!” the old man flung his satchel at me and darted with surprising agility into the crowd. I caught the satchel, but ran after him. What could this old man hope to achieve without getting hurt?
The crowd parted with surprising ease but I lost sight of the old man. A cry of excitement as I neared the dancers made me realise the coffin had landed safely. I breathed easily, foolish old man, now where was he?
He was nowhere near the dancers, coffin or drummers. I craned my neck in different directions but didn’t see him. I prepared to wait at the spot till all the crowd had dispersed because no doubt I would see the old man and return his satchel.
The processions continued with their antics but they held no interest to me. I thought of the old man – I had taken a liking to him- and I thought of his weird story. I looked with sudden curiosity at the portrait of Ponle’s illustrious son which was now a few feet from me, and suddenly the world slowed down.
Tremors began in my hands and my jaws hit the ground. Was this a joke? I moved closer to the portrait – it really couldn’t be.
But it was, because every other picture, calendar or obituary notice I have seen since then showed the picture of the old man. How could that old man be the same man who was in the coffin?
It was almost like a dream but for the satchel. I looked inside the satchel for some clue- and for the second time- my world slowed. Where I had expected to find more Kola nuts, I found tiny little gems, precious stones.
The old man’s words floated around me with sudden clarity
“The bag changed his fortunes”
‘Was it possible?’ I thought rooted to the spot ‘Was it possible?’
And then I understood why he had done it
At least I thought I understood, a man like him knew. He had to know.
“Sometimes good guys going nowhere deserve a break”
Bonne Santé
One places no value on good health - the ability to walk at any pace, sit down or stand when you want to, turn your neck and eat any food- until the ability is gone for any particular reason.
The French would say Bonne santé! With that flourish that comes with the language. And it brings an image to mind- having good health is almost synonymous to being alive! Not just existing! But with springs in your step, eyes bright and intelligent and an imaginary glass of wine in your hand as you waltz through life.
It’s infectious and most enviable. It says to anybody watching that life is worth living and yes, it can be lived indeed!
That tells me that being in good health is more than just my body being medically fit, but my mind and spirit being up to par as well. Many body-healthy intelligent people are dragging their spirits on the ground right behind them. They just can’t seem to have any spark. And look how many times you’ve crossed the road, or dodged just in time behind a door to avoid that guy with permanent high spirits but no substance (mentally lazy- perhaps you call him a bore?)
Anyway, let’s celebrate our health and appreciate it. There’s nothing like it at all.
The French would say Bonne santé! With that flourish that comes with the language. And it brings an image to mind- having good health is almost synonymous to being alive! Not just existing! But with springs in your step, eyes bright and intelligent and an imaginary glass of wine in your hand as you waltz through life.
It’s infectious and most enviable. It says to anybody watching that life is worth living and yes, it can be lived indeed!
That tells me that being in good health is more than just my body being medically fit, but my mind and spirit being up to par as well. Many body-healthy intelligent people are dragging their spirits on the ground right behind them. They just can’t seem to have any spark. And look how many times you’ve crossed the road, or dodged just in time behind a door to avoid that guy with permanent high spirits but no substance (mentally lazy- perhaps you call him a bore?)
Anyway, let’s celebrate our health and appreciate it. There’s nothing like it at all.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Boredom
In case you doubt it, these pictures prove that boredom is almost a crime. It certainly shows that there are still so many things to see, and so many experiences to have- that the world is far too interesting for one to be bored in it.
But people continue to be bored. This is so surprising a phenomenon for this century. Everywhere we turn, we are besieged with advertisement for the next entertainment. Movies constantly change at the cinemas, there are new songs on the airwaves every day, the news changes every hour, and now we have more friends than ever through our online social networks.
I guess that truly there is such a thing as entertainment overload. Somewhere in our subconscious, we are asking, ‘another news again? Does it ever stop?’
We haven’t had time to sip our juice and reflect on the beautiful play or scenery before our mind is arrested again. So somewhere along the line, we shut down and detach our senses.
Nothing excites us anymore. If we do get excited, it doesn’t last that long before our inner voice asks-‘Is this it?’ It’s almost like a drug addiction and we keep looking for the next fix.
The next fix helps us to get rid of the empty feeling that boredom emphasize in our lives. That empty feeling that shows the true state of our existence. Boredom tells us how far we have come in embracing a fulfilled life.
The world is full of exciting little things that we can take our time to do, and that require nothing from us. It sounds like a cliche but take time to smell the roses. You can watch the sea for a few minutes while on your way to work or back-watch the sunlight reflect on the water, look at the moon and count the stars, go skinny dipping in your pool, catch a large unusual fish, take yoga lessons, run around in the rain and be stupid about it, organize a play in your neighbourhood. Whatever you do, make sure its the entertainment that you really enjoy and choose because your mind can tell the difference and also choose to stay open.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Lives of quiet desperation
Henry Thoreau (July 12, 1817 – May 6, 1862) made a statement many years ago about real-everyday people and it remains valid even now. He said that 'majority of men are living lives of quiet desperation'.
There are three things that fascinate me about this statement. One is how valid and true the statement is, the second is the active word 'living', and the third is the word 'quiet'.
This generation is dying, and yet some would say it is more alive than ever. There are better opportunities, improved health care and more innovative solutions; this is the age that no feat seems impossible when viewed with a true scientific mind.
But is it so farfetched to imagine that one day the earth would stand empty and the only sounds and movements would be that of the machines we have created? Not in my mind it isn't. But this would never be allowed to happen because in spite of how frustrated and desperate people are, they still love 'living'.
Living is something you do when you don't stop your life through suicidal means. It’s what I am doing at this laptop writing, putting thoughts on paper. It’s what you do when you wake up in the morning and rush around the house preparing to go to a job you hate or love. It’s what your neighbour across the road is doing taking that gorgeous woman on a date. Living is what you do every second, the choices you make and the execution of it no matter how insignificant the choice. You don't have to like any bit of being awake but hey that's 'living'.
Sometimes we fall into the habit of thinking the other guy has got it perfect. There is that something about the way he has chosen to paint his life; the bright orange and sky blue colours that hang around him – could be the way he laughs so loud and never seems to have a care in the world, seems to be doing alright; got a nice apartment on a really cool stretch, best SUV in the market and oh is that a Rolex?
Then someone says – two months later- did you hear about so and so? No? He drove off a bridge!
No, not that guy! You actually wonder if he drove off in that SUV or borrowed someone's beat up car. What could he possibly want to go jumping for? If only he knew what life is like for other people; someone like you for instance.
Here you are, struggling everyday with idiot bosses and a job you hate; taking the crowded stuffy bus to work on the same bridge he leapt off (how did he find the space in this traffic to manoeuvre and go over that bridge?) and for God's sake even he can’t survive this cramped space you call home, with neighbours who drive you crazy every day. What right did he have to go over that bridge?
But that's one guy who got tired of living a life of 'quiet' desperation.
So many people are tired. Mentally, physically, socially and spiritually tired. Their brains are dulled by the disillusion of life but they just go on living. Things haven't turned out like their parents and teachers told them it would. The good, honest and loyal aren't inheriting anything but dust and lower rungs of the ladder.
So many are desperate and wishing some magic would happen and change the course of events in their lives. Desperate in their unhappy marriages. Desperate in their jobs. Desperate with so little achievement in spite of the long grinding hours. Desperate because their minds won’t stop dreaming and imagining, and then their eyes start to see those same ingenious ideas that they discarded right at the door of their minds being brought to life by other (braver but less intelligent) souls.
And the social circles are unrelenting in their unsympathetic ways. Our friends and colleagues would not allow us to bring our woes to the surface lest we look worse than them and hence actually get some sympathy. So we press our starched shirts with just a little more heat, get a nice hair cut and look the part. Just one more day to get through, we say.
I was thinking the other day about how unhappy I was about life, and then I looked around the room and asked myself what I knew about the cheerful looking people in the room. Everyone was laughing about a joke. What I could tell about them said-scratch just a little under and you would be astounded at the depth of bleakness and the hopelessness beneath the façade.
People live such unhappy lives but majority of them would not change it. Either they don't believe it should be changed (some religious doctrine probably encourage this), they are afraid of changing it (our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure) or they can’t change it (some life altering trauma, disease etc.)
There is also the fear of changing the pattern of their lives.
They’ve being in this slump for so long. It's supposed to get better but it isn't. They want to add real value but they aren't. They should be earning more than when they started but they are not. Life should be interesting, a great adventure, but it’s not turning out that way. They want so badly that it should turn out right and that they should get it right.
Our destiny is really in our own hands - Taking our future and steering it right. Making tough but worthy decisions, and living it to the end, yes that is possible, and in our control too.
But it takes guts. It takes a steel will. It takes an uncompromising heart. It takes a lot of difficult to-do things.
Somewhere in our desperate hearts we know this. The question is, are we willing to address the desperation? To say I would rather die trying.............................
And what are we willing to do with the time given to us, keeping in mind that we have no idea how long or short it is
There are three things that fascinate me about this statement. One is how valid and true the statement is, the second is the active word 'living', and the third is the word 'quiet'.
This generation is dying, and yet some would say it is more alive than ever. There are better opportunities, improved health care and more innovative solutions; this is the age that no feat seems impossible when viewed with a true scientific mind.
But is it so farfetched to imagine that one day the earth would stand empty and the only sounds and movements would be that of the machines we have created? Not in my mind it isn't. But this would never be allowed to happen because in spite of how frustrated and desperate people are, they still love 'living'.
Living is something you do when you don't stop your life through suicidal means. It’s what I am doing at this laptop writing, putting thoughts on paper. It’s what you do when you wake up in the morning and rush around the house preparing to go to a job you hate or love. It’s what your neighbour across the road is doing taking that gorgeous woman on a date. Living is what you do every second, the choices you make and the execution of it no matter how insignificant the choice. You don't have to like any bit of being awake but hey that's 'living'.
Sometimes we fall into the habit of thinking the other guy has got it perfect. There is that something about the way he has chosen to paint his life; the bright orange and sky blue colours that hang around him – could be the way he laughs so loud and never seems to have a care in the world, seems to be doing alright; got a nice apartment on a really cool stretch, best SUV in the market and oh is that a Rolex?
Then someone says – two months later- did you hear about so and so? No? He drove off a bridge!
No, not that guy! You actually wonder if he drove off in that SUV or borrowed someone's beat up car. What could he possibly want to go jumping for? If only he knew what life is like for other people; someone like you for instance.
Here you are, struggling everyday with idiot bosses and a job you hate; taking the crowded stuffy bus to work on the same bridge he leapt off (how did he find the space in this traffic to manoeuvre and go over that bridge?) and for God's sake even he can’t survive this cramped space you call home, with neighbours who drive you crazy every day. What right did he have to go over that bridge?
But that's one guy who got tired of living a life of 'quiet' desperation.
So many people are tired. Mentally, physically, socially and spiritually tired. Their brains are dulled by the disillusion of life but they just go on living. Things haven't turned out like their parents and teachers told them it would. The good, honest and loyal aren't inheriting anything but dust and lower rungs of the ladder.
So many are desperate and wishing some magic would happen and change the course of events in their lives. Desperate in their unhappy marriages. Desperate in their jobs. Desperate with so little achievement in spite of the long grinding hours. Desperate because their minds won’t stop dreaming and imagining, and then their eyes start to see those same ingenious ideas that they discarded right at the door of their minds being brought to life by other (braver but less intelligent) souls.
And the social circles are unrelenting in their unsympathetic ways. Our friends and colleagues would not allow us to bring our woes to the surface lest we look worse than them and hence actually get some sympathy. So we press our starched shirts with just a little more heat, get a nice hair cut and look the part. Just one more day to get through, we say.
I was thinking the other day about how unhappy I was about life, and then I looked around the room and asked myself what I knew about the cheerful looking people in the room. Everyone was laughing about a joke. What I could tell about them said-scratch just a little under and you would be astounded at the depth of bleakness and the hopelessness beneath the façade.
People live such unhappy lives but majority of them would not change it. Either they don't believe it should be changed (some religious doctrine probably encourage this), they are afraid of changing it (our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure) or they can’t change it (some life altering trauma, disease etc.)
There is also the fear of changing the pattern of their lives.
They’ve being in this slump for so long. It's supposed to get better but it isn't. They want to add real value but they aren't. They should be earning more than when they started but they are not. Life should be interesting, a great adventure, but it’s not turning out that way. They want so badly that it should turn out right and that they should get it right.
Our destiny is really in our own hands - Taking our future and steering it right. Making tough but worthy decisions, and living it to the end, yes that is possible, and in our control too.
But it takes guts. It takes a steel will. It takes an uncompromising heart. It takes a lot of difficult to-do things.
Somewhere in our desperate hearts we know this. The question is, are we willing to address the desperation? To say I would rather die trying.............................
And what are we willing to do with the time given to us, keeping in mind that we have no idea how long or short it is
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